Epilogue #3
"Well, it's not one of the other call center girls," Fee said.
"Wait, there's no one...oh," Lea said, smile spreading slow and big. "Oooh," she added, eyes going a little dreamy.
"I know, right?" Fiona said, smacking a hand against the counter. "I am not a meddler. But, well, if I didn't meddle here, we all know nothing would have ever happened. I just wanted to give them a little nudge."
"Trapping them in the woods together is quite a nudge," Helen said, but her smile was soft and sweet too. "Did you make sure there was enough firewood for them, or are they supposed to share body heat to keep warm?"
"Well… let's just say... things should get interesting," Fiona said, looking pleased with herself.
"Someone needs to call Mark in," Scotti added. "It looks like we have something else to place bets on."
"I don't know why we even bother," Savvy said, shaking her head. "Mark always loses. Helen always wins."
"Wait now," Lea piped in. "We still have that one ongoing."
The one where they placed bets on when I would get pregnant.
"Yeah, and, for once," Savea agreed, "it looks like Helen is going to lose."
Helen's gaze slid over to me, those familiar eyes all-seeing, all-knowing.
Her gaze slipped to my belly then back to my face, a smile toying with the edges of her lips.
Because we both knew.
Helen had won another bet.
I was going to make a father out of Nixon.
In approximately seven and a half months.
Which meant Helen would continue her winning streak.
Nixon - 1.5 years
We threw the wedding together in about two weeks' time.
Reagan wanted to have wedding pictures where she wasn’t showing too much.
And I wanted to do the right thing and make it official before we brought a kid into the world.
Thankfully, between the Mallicks and Rivers, Krissy, and her parents, there really ended up being nothing for us to do but get up, showered, dressed, and show up.
Which was good because Reagan had barely been able to stay upright for an hour put together without needing to run to the bathroom.
Already skinny, she'd lost a couple pounds due to the morning sickness.
We were counting down the days to the second trimester when, hopefully, the sickness would go away, and she could start enjoying her pregnancy.
And when she wasn’t enjoying it, yeah, no one was enjoying it.
Let's just say that an unwell Reagan made Mal seem even-tempered and sweet.
"It's so hot," she grumbled, fanning herself with a baby magazine she'd brought with her in the short car ride from our place to the wedding.
"Babe, it's like seventy degrees."
Yeah, as soon as that was out of my mouth, I knew it was the wrong thing to say. And the sound that came out of her wasn't entirely human.
"Here, I'll crank the air up," I offered, closing my vents and aiming the others directly at her.
"Why are we having a wedding at a beach?"
"You love the beach."
"What if I need to throw up?"
"I'm sure the girls have bought some fancy-ass trash can for you to do so in."
"The minister is going to know I'm pregnant. Before the wedding."
"Nah. We'll just tell him you're wasted," I offered, making a choked laugh escape her as her hand flew out to smack my arm. "Hey, I am just offering helpful alternatives here, babe."
She gave me a small smile before resting her head back, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry I've been so surly lately."
"Figure, you signed up to deal with my surly ass for the next, what, sixty-something years if we're lucky. I can put up with your surly ass for another seven months."
"That sounds fair," she agreed.
"It's just an hour on the beach. Then we are back to the Mallicks' for the reception. You can change into your comfy clothes, and throw up in peace there if you need to."
"What a romantic wedding day we're having," she said as we pulled into the lot, our family scattered around, waiting for us. "Morning sickness and lying to a man of God."
"Wait," I said, grabbing her arm before she slid out to follow the girls to get changed. "Here. Wear these," I demanded, reaching for a case, handing over her heart-shaped glasses. "Got my mom with me," I said, showing her the quarter. "You have Sammy with you."
She gave me a big smile then.
And, sure, she threw up twice on the beach. Into a fancy basket lined with a plastic bag. And, yeah, the minister either knew she was pregnant or thought she was a really bad drunk. But the pictures were beautiful. The marriage was official.
She was mine.
After an hour laying down back at the Mallicks', she got back up looking and feeling a lot better, nibbling on some plain crackers, sipping flat ginger ale, but enjoying the celebration, opening gifts.
"Okay. Last one," she declared, getting up, going behind the couch where I was sitting, picking up something wrapped in white paper with gold wedding bands. Big, but not heavy. "My wedding gift to you," she said, smiling bigger than she had in a long time, excited about whatever it was.
My hands went for the paper, suddenly very aware of all the eyes on me as I ripped it off, pulled it away.
To find the goddamn devil painting I thought we'd luckily lost in the move of houses.
But nope.
There it was.
"I tracked down the original artist," she declared, practically bouncing in excitement. "Which was no easy task because she had sworn off painting about five years ago. But I found her, and I got her to agree to fix the painting."
"Babe, why the fuck would you have her give the devil a ghost to hang out with?" I asked, staring at the creepy fucking duo, one leering at me, one looking into my soul.
"She painted a peach tree!"
"Babe, that's no peach tree. It's a ghost. A Dickensian ghost with his cloak open and souls trapped inside."
Reagan dropped down beside me, running her finger across the canvas. "Bark, leaves, peaches."
"Body, arms, trapped souls."
"Really, I think you need to see a therapist," she declared, shaking her head. "I tried to do a nice thing," she said, pretending to be exasperated.
"Tried," I agreed, putting an arm around her. "And failed. Epically," I added when she snorted. "Can somebody do me a favor and take this outside? Burn it? Bury the ashes in consecrated ground?"
"That painting is going to be hanging over our marriage bed,” she declared, giving me small eyes.
"Wow. You're really determined not to have more kids, huh?" I asked, tugging her hair gently.
It was an unconventional wedding.
But perfect in its own way.
And that goddamn picture would haunt our marriage for years to come.
Reagan - 5 years
Marley was coming back for a visit.
Freshly finished with college, she was coming back to the area for the first time in nearly five years.
I had maybe gone ahead and not told Calvin about it.
What can I say? After Krissy putting the idea in my head, and watching Fiona be so right about meddling, I had maybe found I was rooting for the two of them to see each other again.
I was damn near giddy about it.
"Jackson, easy," I reminded the preschooler who was ramming his little lawnmower into the walls of my office.
Yes, Jackson.
We'd decided to stick with presidential when he came around finally.
I was probably one of the very few women looking forward to childbirth.
But I'd had a terrible pregnancy. Morning sickness that went well into my second trimester.
Then high blood pressure which eventually led me to bed rest. I was so happy to feel better that I barely remembered the pain of the birth itself.
And then there was Jackson.
A quiet baby with a judgmental glare much like his father.
Helen had won her bet.
And I decided that I was one-and-done biologically. We were looking into getting Jackson a little sibling, but we understood it was a process. One that made me have a lot of respect for my parents, who went through the grueling home study process to get me.
"He doesn't bite, Krissy,” I called to her from where she was standing in the doorway, watching my son like he made no sense, despite having been around him since he was born. “Anymore.”
"It's strange."
"What is?"
"How something I enjoy so much creates something I am completely terrified of."
"They're not so scary when they're your own."
"Oh, you mean when they're clawing their way out of your body. Through a very sensitive space?"
Krissy had decided to try to be in the room with me when I delivered.
It was a decision she would never stop regretting.
I had never seen someone turn the shades she had turned when Jackson was being born.
And that was saying something because Nixon had turned a pretty impressive shade of green/gray.
"Well, they only claw their way out once. For a few hours. Then after that, they're there and they—“
"Cry? Spit up? Need to be—“ she paused there, gulping, "changed." Clearly, she also regretted the one time she'd offered to change Jackson, so I could get a shower.
"Well, yeah, they do that. But they smell good, and they belly laugh, and they look at you with wonder in their eyes. They're neat."
"I love you. And I love Jackson. You know, from a distance. But, yeah, I am incredibly thankful I live in a time where I can take a pill every day, and not have to worry about telling something to stop licking the chair. He's licking the chair!"
Yep.
That sounded about right.
"Come on, bud, let's go see what Uncle Harvey is doing," I suggested, picking him up, depositing him under Harvey's desk where he kept a collection of Lincoln Logs because Harvey secretly never grew up, and loved to get down to build stuff with him.
I imagined when Jackson was old enough, the two of them would bond pretty hardcore over Legos. "
"She should be here any minute," I whispered to Krissy as we grabbed our coffee, moving over toward the doorway to my office, getting the best possible view.
We would see Marley walk in.
And we would see Calvin seeing her walk in.